The Only Free Voices
by shywr1ter
Summary: Early S1. It's been weeks since Eyes Only has made a broadcast. Does it mean he's finally been silenced? Pre-M/L.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Characters courtesy of Dark Angel; no profits made.

_**A/N:**__ There's something perverse in me that when RL prevents me from doing much fic, I get to a point where I have to write __**something**__ – and it always seems to be some new little idea that has been banging around in my head since exile (faster than updating a pending story, actually.) Apologies to those getting tired of waiting for other stories to be updated._

_This one will be fast; I suspect only another installment. Maybe two. (More famous last words...) _

_As always – __**reviews appreciated! **__I would really appreciate hearing any and all comments – it's the only way I know if these stories are growing tiresome..._

**The Only Free Voices**

It had been a good five weeks since Eyes Only had last broken into Seattle's airwaves, and his public was growing nervous: over the past four years, since his first broadcast, Eyes Only's break-ins had gradually become more and more frequent, so that it had become unusual that the city didn't find itself updated by its avenging angel at least every other week.

But he'd gone quiet. After three weeks, the rumbles began in earnest; after four, nearly everyone admitted that they were curious, many even anxious, about what had happened to him, as speculation grew that the "one free voice" of the northwest had finally been silenced, too. At five weeks, more public recognition of his absence was heard, and a real concern for the crusader spread along the Pacific coast. A surprising number of voices found their way into the public, by underground papers or pirate radio stations, to express the truth that, no matter his methods or targets, Eyes Only never failed to have the good of the public at heart. Whomever, and why ever, the vigilante had taken on his crusade, the entire northwest had been the beneficiaries. And the longer he was absent, the deeper their fears ran that his enemies had finally caught up with him.

The reports, the rumors, all swirled though greater Seattle, and the self-satisfied bleating of politicians assuring the public they were better off without the outlaw sounded thin and impotent against the re-emerging confidence of the black market profiteers. A new thread of fear began to take hold as the population started to realize just how much Eyes Only had done to keep the underworld at bay, willing to meet them on their own terms, just as willing to operate outside the law as they were.

So when the familiar red, white and blue masked eyes suddenly interrupted broadcasts up and down the Pacific coast one drizzly fall afternoon, cheers literally could be heard around the city – in seedy, dark bars, in tiny apartments and crowded shops, in the riders' waiting room of Jam Pony messenger service.

"This is a streaming freedom video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly sixty seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in this city.

"As a famous man once said, 'the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.' The pledge of Eyes Only has not changed; this hack – and this voice – cannot be stopped. Eyes Only may be quieter but is no less present..." At that, the masked eyes faded, replaced with photos of two city councilmen on the screen, followed quickly by videotaped scenes of Seattle police raiding their offices and removing the councilmen in handcuffs.

"Terrence Bateman and Randall Montalvo have been diverting city funds into their own bank accounts for many months now. They will no longer do so. They will be tried and their assets used to pay back the citizens of Seattle for their crimes.

"To those who would use their power and position to rob from those they govern – you are on notice. To those who would try to use intimidation and threats to control those less strong – Eyes Only has not left and has not retired. You will be found and held accountable. Never doubt that Eyes Only will make certain that you will pay for your crimes.

"This has been a streaming freedom video bulletin via the Eyes Only Informant Net. Peace. Out."

People were relieved, buoyed, happy; a few added in their consternation that Eyes Only had been gone so long without letting them know. All babbled about what he'd said, the promises he'd made.

But two were surprised.

One, a slim brunette beauty who stood puzzled, amid the chaos around her, wondered that Eyes Only was back at it so soon, given the givens.

... but that was nothing compared to the shock felt by the man back in his hospital bed at Metro Medical's rehab unit, miles away from his silenced computer array, still recovering from gunfire and surgery...

"Mr. Cale?"

One of the unit's staffers rapped lightly at his door and stepped inside. Glancing up at the TV screen on the wall, she was momentarily distracted by the news report following up on the story of the hour, the arrest and public humiliation of two long term councilmen – and the dramatic return of their accuser, Eyes Only. Looking back to see that her patient stared at the screen, paler than usual, she frowned a little. "Are you feeling alright?"

He blinked and swallowed, managing, "I, uh ... yeah. Fine. I just..." He looked back at the screen, feeling helpless to know what had just happened, knowing it was impossible to think he could find out anything about the hack from a hospital bed.

The young woman smiled softly, mistaking his reaction for just another version of the relief and enthusiasm on the faces of everyone in the unit. "It's a good feeling, isn't it, to know he's okay, and still looking out for everyone? I wonder what he's been up to – some big investigation, maybe." She turned to him, and Logan was a bit relieved to see that she was more swept up in her own reaction to the news than to his. "Anyway, this was just delivered for you."

She handed him a box not much larger than a shirt box, but far heavier. It was unmarked. He looked up at her. "Who was it from, did they say?"

She shrugged. "No – just a guy, mid thirties, maybe, dropped it off. He just asked that we give it to you."

He nodded, vaguely, and offered his thanks as she left. No marking at all, no card or delivery message...

He turned it over to pull at the tape, first thinking of the fit Peter would have, his opening an unchecked package like this ... then feeling another stab of pain and anger that Peter was gone. Taking out his flash of anger on the tape and wrapping, he ripped it off quickly and inside found a box, as unmarked as its wrapper. Opening it, he found inside a power cord, a set of slim ear-buds –

... and a laptop computer.

He knew the danger – it could be a powerful bomb, triggered by simply hitting the power switch; it could serve as a homing device if someone had wanted to find him. But in the circumstances, he didn't care – it was a computer, and the perfect way to tempt him, especially in light of the broadcast he'd just seen.

And he knew, deep down, its appearance at the moment the hack was done was not just a coincidence...

**To be continued.**

_A/N: If you're thinking if I'm repeating myself, give yourself 2 points for catching me rehashing something I used before – someone posing as EO. I promise this is a very different takeover of EO, with a very different story line, length, and flavor than the other story I have pending with the same basic plot point. Sorry, but I can't help myself – for some reason I'm intrigued with the idea of others usurping Logan's territory!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Characters courtesy of Dark Angel; no profits made.

_**A/N:**__ This fic is sort of an AU to my own stubborn history of Logan & his crew. I hadn't set out to update this story during playtime this weekend, and it's not very long, but at least a little something for the holiday weekend (and cheaper than shopping!) Thanks for reading and extra thanks to those of you who reviewed. It helps!_

**The Only Free Voices** – part 2.

With one glance back up toward the hall to assure himself that the staffer wasn't going to pop back in again immediately, Logan slowly opened the cover of the laptop, not really expecting a literal explosion, but wondering what he might be setting in motion as he did. His pulse was starting to ease a little from the pounding alarm he'd first felt, seeing his own eyes suddenly and unexpectedly broadcast back at him, and he forced his thoughts to assess what he knew and what it might mean.

_Fact: someone has just done a remarkable job of hacking your hack. They've got skills. _

_Fact: whomever it was had some reason to take things into their own hands and broadcast an Eyes Only take-down that would have involved research, investigatory resources, and, being that elected officials were involved, probably insiders. Something like that would have taken more than the month or so I've been here – and who knows when they decided it had to be put together as an Eyes Only hack?_

_Fact: whomever it was went to some lengths to cover my ass for being gone – but __**why?**__ Did they just get impatient – or did they know Eyes Only was out of commission?_

_...and if they did ... did they know why? And didn't __**that**__ mean they'd known Eyes Only ... was __**me**__?_

_Fact..._ Logan stared at the dark screen for only one more moment before stabbing at the power button to turn it on. _I don't have a clue why or who or how...._

The computer loaded up as any other would, not too fast, but not too slowly, either ... a good brand but not the best; a newer model but not the most recent. In good shape but some evidence of use...

_Anyone here might just think someone retrieved mine from home,_ he mused. _Is that why __**this**__ one?_ Already he was convinced that the computer was linked to the Eyes Only hack, and _that_ meant that someone – or _someones_ – knew he was, too...

The screen came to life with a commercial standard screen saver commonly seen around town, a logo for the first retail outlet approved locally to start selling computers and their parts again after the Pulse. They'd been around for several years now and all but had the market cornered. _Everything ordinary, mundane, nothing eye-catching or memorable. This guy's good ... has it all worked out, thought of all the little details... _

Logan looked at the several icons glowing along the bottom, most to be expected, like anti-virals and power source symbols. He saw a familiar one for reading wireless signal and opened it, scanning down the list for available signals.

Any networks within reach were secured. _Damn. Don't suppose the guy who sent this installed anything I could use to... _ It occurred to him fleetingly to just look in the word processing programs to see if the guy left him a note, but immediately discarded the idea. _He's too good at this, and wouldn't be so obvious, would he? If he knows who I am he probably figures I can handle some of the bigger league stuff..._

Still, checking the obvious took only a few moments, and Logan discovered no blatant messages or memos in the program files or e-mail account, which had been allowed to gather a few innocuous ads, probably to avoid the oddity of a completely empty inbox. Logan started to methodically scroll through the program indexes, noting a number of programs apparently taking up far more memory than they should be for what was listed. A brief glance at several of the programs' files, however, revealed nothing at all out of the ordinary, and out of curiosity Logan called up the hard drive's properties to find that the humble little computer had been packed with upgraded memory and an operating program usually found in far more elaborate, sophisticated rigs. In spite of himself, Logan's eyes flickered, then narrowed, in his intrigue, and a slow smile started to lift at the corner of his mouth.

Glancing across the room to the simple desk in the corner, its surface devoid of any personal or homey touches, Logan hesitated only a moment before he set the computer beside him on the bed and reached over for the wheelchair at his side. He gave about the same amount of thought to calling for a staffer, as he was supposed to do, before he began the transfer over from bed to chair.

_Guess I gotta do this sometime without an audience_, he grimaced to himself as he completed his first completely solo, no-one-around-to-catch-him-if-necessary transfer. The last part was more gravity than purposeful move, and it may not have been as graceful as they insisted it could be, but in the next moment the laptop was balanced on his thighs and he was spinning over to the desk, so it had accomplished its purpose. He was determined not to dwell on it ... and the intrigue of the computer and this new 'Eyes Only let him get his mind out of the hospital quickly and back into his mystery...

*******

Logan had lost track of time as he peeled back layer by layer of information loaded into the laptop's programs. He wasn't learning much about the source of this computer yet – clearly only what the person behind it all _wanted_ him to know, at least so far – other than the fact that the guy really knew computers, its related technology, and a good bit of what they could do. Logan didn't quite know yet if the guy was just showing off, or wanted him to know he had these skills, or if he thought Logan would need all the programs and information he'd added. He'd hidden an unfamiliar network's security code over three info sources, one leading readily to the next if the information had been 'unwrapped' slowly as Logan had done. Some of the information he offered Logan in the systems had been produced in the form of a tutoral as well, and Logan suspected they were set up that way because it was part of a package the guy himself created. _So you get me this rig ... you get me on line ... what next?_ Logan's mind was full of questions for the guy, and he felt more and more sure his anonymous source was working up to a meeting of some sort. _What is it you want from me? What is it you want me to do?_

He worked though the afternoon, finally succumbing on the third demand to leave his room for the four minutes it took him to go to the unit's kitchen to grab a hamburger before the staff shut down lunch then head back to his computer, even managing a few bites of the burger so he wouldn't have to deal with the social worker or nurse or psychologist or whatever other enforcer they chose to send to goad him into eating...

_... he __**knew**__ I'd follow his path, like this, Logan stared at the screen, _hours later sipping a cup of coffee one of the afternoon staffers had brought him on her way in, for a change barely noticing the rich brew,_ the way he laid out programs and hidden files. Who __**is**__ this guy?_

He configured the internal modem to fit the system requirements he'd found embedded in a random file, and an icon suddenly shifted from orange to green as the signal strength for another, completely new secured network was picked up by his computer...

"Hey, Logan," a cheerful voice suddenly appeared behind him. "The staff says you've been up quite a while – how's it feel?"

Logan was startled out of his hand-delivered network, just moments before he'd gotten in, by the optimistic voice of his surgeon, and unobtrusively hit a link to switch his screen over to his less eye-catching mailbox, mentally shaking himself a little to bring his head back to the present. "Hey, Sam." He looked up to see that the doctor wasn't alone. At his elbow stood a tall, bald, muscular man smiling pleasantly at him. "Hey," he added for the other man, and received a silent, friendly nod in return.

"So you're feeling okay, after being up this long?" Sam was asking. "They said you've been at it nearly five hours now. Any discomfort or problems?"

Logan blinked at that, both surprised that he'd been working that long – time here had taken on the speed of drying cement – but that a mere five hours at the computer should be cause for a medical alert. Still, he bit back the irony and shook his head. "No – I'm fine," he shrugged, again feeling awkward at the lack of privacy he felt here, how even Sam came in and asked for updates, seemingly no matter who else was around. That they were usually other medical people never seemed to help...

"Good," Sam nodded energetically, quick to move on to the purpose of his visit. "Logan, great news – this is B.L. Ingrum, one of the best physical therapists we've had here. He left us a year or so ago, but just today came in to say he's back in the area to stay, and would like to get on staff here again. He'd be a great therapist for you, Logan; not that Tina isn't a fine therapist too..."

Logan knew that not only had Sam wanted him to have a stronger, taller therapist to work with his taller frame – Tina wasn't much over five feet – but Sam also thought he could use someone not so easily swayed by his recalcitrance at getting on with therapy. He peered up at the silent, calm eyes at Sam's side and immediately saw all manner of intelligence and strength there. He had a hunch he knew why Sam thought he was so right for the job...

"... but Bling here has a lot of experience and training with younger guys, like you, more athletic types, and can be a great resource..."

Logan couldn't help himself; the name was so unexpected for the man he saw there. "...Bling?" he asked, looking back to the man, almost as if he'd heard wrong.

The therapist just smirked quietly and shrugged. "Nickname," he said briefly. "Nice to meet you, Logan."

He stuck out a large hand and Logan immediately moved in return, returning the handshake. Sam had begun talking again and in his enthusiasm, missed Logan's sudden, stunned look, as he searched the therapist's face with a sudden, questioning urgency.

"... so once he gets set up again here on Tuesday, he'll work with you to get a regimen down – I'll leave it to him to program what's best..."

"Tuesday?" Logan turned to Sam, trying not to seem too thrown. "But ... that's another week, almost..."

"Four days," Sam minimized, used to the emotional roller coaster his patients often suffered after such life-changing injuries. He even found Logan's sudden interest in starting with a new therapist a hopeful sign. "Tina will still be around through the weekend. You won't lose any time."

Logan swallowed, nodded quickly, and realized he needed to find some way to be patient until then. "Sure; okay," he managed, and swore he saw a bit of humor twinkle subtly in the therapist's eyes. "I ... uh ... I'll be looking forward to it," he offered.

"Me, too." The trainer said, easily. "It was a pleasure, Logan. See you Tuesday," Bling took a step back, to leave.

"See you Tuesday," Logan echoed, adding a goodbye to Sam who left with the therapist. He watched their retreating forms for only a moment before he looked down to his right hand, opened it for the first time since he'd shaken hands with the big man ... and stared, intrigued, at the small, silver flashdrive Bling had pressed into his palm...

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Characters courtesy of Dark Angel; no profits made.

_**A/N:**__ I really appreciate all the reviews and the interest! I stink at mysteries, so it's fun to get reactions from those guessing who the mystery EO might be._

_And while it may be shameless begging, it's true: getting enthusiastic reviews feeds enthusiasm for writing – I wanted to get this up before someone catches on to too much story & spills it! _**: } **_Apologies if it was posted too quickly, before it was really ready for it... _

**The Only Free Voices** – part 3.

The excitement of having network access personally delivered to him had been all but forgotten once Logan felt the flash drive press into his palm. And he now had a contact to go with the mystery – in the guise of a therapist his neurosurgeon had apparently known for some time, so the real deal, not just some guy pretending to be one.

His mind raced as he watched the pair leave his room and stop not far outside of his door to chat briefly. It was way too perfect to be coincidence that this Eyes Only wannabe happened to have someone so right to send as a courier – unless he too had his own 'Informant Net,' his own stable of people and resources to use as needed. It was something he himself might do, wasn't it, if someone he needed to contact was cooling his heels in a rehab center with a newly shredded spinal cord? He'd look through his contacts and find someone who would have ready access to the hospital...

... but this guy ... Logan might have found a nurse or even a doctor. _This_ guy found a therapist who was known and respected by his doctor, and who was being assigned as his therapist. Any chance at all it was just dumb luck, that he had someone so perfect a fit? Logan began to suspect that this was much, much more than just luck...

The guy had skills.

Sam and the other guy – _Bling_ – finally finished their conversation and Logan watched anxiously, hoping that Bling would turn and make eye contact, maybe allowing him to wave him back in his room – but the man never budged, just simply walked away, toward the elevators. Feeling a bit of frustration that he wouldn't be back for several days, Logan turned back to his computer to insert the flashdrive, his curiosity for what it would hold letting him get over his frustration momentarily ...

He frowned.

The disc held only one tiny file, and when he opened it he saw only three lines of text: "45wwqhdi67A," "rwss3" and "byrr88" listed, one below the other.

Passwords?

He immediately switched over to the laptop's hard drive to start scrolling through programs – he had run into a couple that had been encrypted and password protected, and hadn't given them much thought with all the other information he had to review. But now that he'd been given not only access, but the clear path that the guy wanted him to follow, he sorted through the programs to find any that accepted passwords as a place to start. His search pulled up twelve such files. It was like being handed a key ring and facing a series of lock boxes. All he needed to do was to get the right key in the right lock, and the treasure the guy left for him would be revealed...

It took him all of eighty seconds to get the first match – and he finally pulled up the first personal communication from this 'contact' in the form of a text document, cautiously though clearly meant specifically for him:

"_I hope you'll forgive the cloak and dagger, but as we're in the same business, I trust you'll understand my caution. I also hope you'll understand my intrusion into your work, but my sources indicate that those who feared your attention, and therefore were less active for it, now believe you are no longer a threat to their operations. In the circumstances, it seemed the best course to lead them to think otherwise._

"_The information disseminated was from my own work and has been verified, so anyone who wanted to confirm its accuracy will find it to be exactly as reported. I am hopeful that it will provide another few weeks of quiet, but if necessary I can step in at least twice more with only a few days notice, and am in the process of preparing at least one of those items to have on standby for immediate delivery, should it appear needed._

"_Finally, I wish you the best and hope that next Tuesday and afterward will be the beginning of a productive new course for you. I believe that in relatively short order you can get back to business, and my intrusion will no longer be appropriate. _

"_Please delete and purge this note once reviewed."_

Logan sat back, frozen with the implications. No matter how helpful and cautious this guy was, no matter his skills, Logan had just been hit upside the head with the fact that _some_one out there, someone with resources and skills most likely much better than his, knew his – previously – 'secret' identity. That the man was willing, at least this far, to keep it to himself was of less importance than the fact that he _knew_; someone made him as Eyes Only. If this guy had, who knew how many more might know? He felt a rising panic at how destructive and far-reaching that information, should it be suddenly leaked, might be to his contacts, to the Informant Net, all while he was here in the hospital and unable to get to his array to engage all the necessary contingency plans...

Logan forced himself to take a breath, to back away from the computer for a moment to settle down. He was reminded once again how stupid he'd been to overlook this contingency, that he might be identified while incapacitated or dead, and therefore unable to purge all the files and protect the Net. _A glaring error that could have gotten hundreds killed – still can. That's an oversight that you'd better address at the very first chance you have..._

He managed to settle down into clearer thinking after the first moment, and rationalized that whoever this was, he was cautious – nothing in the note indicated who or what was being discussed. His stated reason for the hack fit the circumstances and the effect it would certainly have, at least on some of the dark forces out there.

He'd said he was "in the same business" – _what, another cyber journalist? Another freelance crime fighter? Where's he get his resources, his money – his skills?_

_Who __**is**__ this guy??_

***********

It was the fourth time Max had been to the penthouse, exactly three more times than she had ever intended when she'd made the place as a good source of easily lifted, easily fenced big-ticket items. _Whack job_, she mentally uttered yet again as she slipped inside the still apartment, wondering at the irritatingly compelling man she'd found there on her first trip. She'd found out where they'd taken him after he was shot and, right place, right time, had managed to keep Sonrisa's boys from blowing him up. Even so, before she'd gone in to see him she'd sneaked a peek at his records, too easily found at the nurses' station, abandoned when the call buttons from three empty rooms at the end of the hall suddenly went into alarm mode. From all she read, all the doctor's orders she'd found there, he'd have a good several more weeks ahead of him as a patient.

But that afternoon's Eyes Only hack made her wonder if he'd escaped ahead of schedule. She'd toyed with faking a delivery to his place that afternoon, but if he wasn't there and security stopped her – he might have alerted them to the fact he'd be gone a while – it would just mean a wasted trip, and her face as suspicious to his building's people. This way – a visit during security's shift-change via 'alternate' means – she'd get in for a look around and see just what was up. _If he's home, maybe he didn't get hit as badly as his chart had looked..._

Max silently closed the door behind her, careful to watch and listen for security sensors, for some reason not triggered. The place was quiet, the air undisturbed, as if empty of life for some time. Max wondered if she and Lauren had been the last ones there, and no one else had around since that night she'd reunited Lauren and her daughter. A fine layer of dust covered everything, telling Max that no one had disturbed the equipment since she'd been on his computer to try and figure out how to find Sophie, so she and Lauren could make a run for it.

Max frowned at the dark array. So Eyes Only – or the one she saw earlier that day – hadn't broadcast from here. Maybe there was more than just this Cale guy fighting his fight, but he just hadn't struck Max as much of a team player. So could that mean that while Cale was away, someone was horning in on his act?

_Man, was __**he**__ gonna be surprised..._

***********

"Mr. Cale, if you don't shut it down soon and Dr. Carr hears you've been up all night, I'll lose my job, and I have those fifteen kids I have to feed..."

Logan had long since given up trying to hide his grin at the ridiculous pleas and jibes 'Ms. Minnie,' as everyone called her, used on him to make him do her bidding. As she approached, he quickly closed the secured connection to the Informant Net, insuring that she'd see nothing unusual, and that nothing sensitive could be accessed casually by anyone having access to his laptop during his captivity. He looked up to her. "Using guilt again to get me to see things your way?" By now he'd learned from other staff that she'd started in this department before the Pulse, that she didn't have fifteen kids but an ailing, elderly mother who lived with her, that she'd taken night shift to care for her during the day while her sister stayed with her at night, that her own child and husband hadn't survived the terrible influenza outbreak of 2010, when medical care was still hard to access and healing medications even harder, even for those working in the system...

And despite all that, the woman was quick-witted and kind and knew just how to handle her charges, and had quickly found her way to cajole Logan into compliance. "But it just works so well with you," she teased him, coming closer to look at his computer. "You got a new toy?" He nodded, and she continued approvingly, "that'll be good for you for the down time around here – you never struck me much as the brainless TV watching type."

"Just brainless, surfing the net for a good story type, maybe." He'd become a bit of a hero to some of the staff who had learned that he was the same Logan Cale who had run the story in the P-I first exposing Sonrisa's adulteration of medications that, ironically, led him to being a patient. At least he could use his identity as a journalist to explain any computer time while he was here...

"Well, look, if you do get caught, tell 'em you've been napping all day and just woke up. I hate it when they talk about re-instituting bed checks, like the place was summer camp..." She turned to go.

He chucked, murmuring his agreement and appreciating that she was old enough to remember the pre-Pulse luxury of summer camp... which reminded him of her longevity at the hospital. "Hey, Ms. Minnie..."

His voice – and its sudden, softer question – brought her back, her face kind and open, her wisecracking smirk put aside. She waited for him to speak.

"I know you've been here a long time – Dr. Carr came in today with a new therapist – or, an old one, who's coming back to work here next week – his name is Ingrum?"

She nodded, smiling, clearly pleased with the news. "Bling. Yes, I heard he was coming back. We can certainly use him around here, we've been shorthanded in PT since he left."

"Know much about him?"

She shrugged, but also looked at Logan more closely, her attention drawn that he asked. "I worked with him for a while, so, yes, I know him a little. He's a good man – Dr. Carr is asking him to work with you?" When Logan nodded, the woman continued, "a good match, I think. He won't take as much of your BS as Tina does." She continued to watch his response, clearly curious now about his asking. "Why? Were you concerned about him?"

"Oh, no; I..." He suddenly was very aware he needed to backpedal, and wracked his brain to find a likely reason to ask. "It's just that ... I thought I had been doing alright with Tina..." he tried, hoping he might sound as if he thought it was his failing that led to the switch. After all, he'd been there long enough to learn Ms. Minnie's weak spots, too...

Which he apparently found once again, at least enough to trigger Ms. Minnie's caretaker tendencies. "You've been doing just fine, as far as all I've seen – other than your attempts to get out of therapy, on occasion," she chided. "I'm sure Dr. Carr is just thinking both about Bling's height and strength, and some of the other things he does – he gets a lot of the patients back to being very active, no matter how stubbornly they think they can't be. He was involved with the local wheelchair basketball league while he was here, that sort of thing. No, with you being young and healthy – I think you and Bling will make a good team."

Logan nodded, cautiously pressing while she was there, "do you know why he quit?'

She shook her head. "Something personal – I got the idea it was family or something; he was on leave for a while then just decided to make it permanent. I think he left town, or was gone a good bit of it; once in a great while someone would see him here in Seattle, but not in any of the places he used to work or volunteer." She seemed to buy the idea that Logan was nervous about his own progress, and encouraged, "I'm sure Dr. Carr thinks you were doing fine , but he wouldn't pass up the chance to have any guy in your shoes work with a stronger, athletic therapist. Talk to Dr. Carr about it if you're concerned."

"Thanks, Ms. Minnie. I wasn't really concerned, but..." Logan continued the sham a bit. "Sam had never said there was any problem before. And if this guy comes back but then leaves again in a couple weeks..."

She shook her head emphatically, "he'd never leave a patient unless there was some very good reason. Give him a try, Logan, and if it's not a good fit, I'm sure Sam will be happy to move you back to Tina's caseload."

He nodded, thoughtfully, then offered a wan smile. "Thank you." He met her eyes, and then tipped his head toward the computer. "Just a couple more things to do before lights out, then it's bed, I promise." She smiled slowly, a wry twist of disbelief there, but she simply nodded and turned to go.

Logan turned back to the computer, not having learned too much about his new therapist but enough to confirm that he was the real thing. _I have people on the Informant Net in all kinds of jobs and from all sorts of backgrounds , _he reasoned. _So this guy just happens to have a therapist..._

_... a physical therapist, _he warned himself._ One sorely missed at the hospital where you ended up, with your own doctor as the president of his fan club. Just a big coincidence ...? _

... he had a strong suspicion it was far beyond 'coincidence....'

***********

Another hour later, well after Ms. Minnie's third 'harumph' tossed toward him from the hallway, Logan carefully shut down his Informant Net access, calmer than he'd been earlier, but not much less puzzled with the day's events.

The secure network he'd been provided was simply that, without more surprises; there were no hidden messages or programs waiting for him on line. Through the evening he'd managed to pull together some of the available parts to build himself a somewhat secure program of his own within the system he'd been handed, and he used it to tap into the Informant Net, as would any of his contacts. He chafed again at the idea that he'd left it up and running, with only the minimal protection of the 'sleeper' mode he'd installed set to lock down the most sensitive parts of the system if he hadn't initiated activity for 48 hours. But it was too easily breached by someone with the computer savvy of his newly found 'partner,' and he found himself wondering if somehow, this was the way the guy had managed to trace Eyes Only back to him...

He dismissed the thought quickly. _He knew too much too early ... as if once he heard I'd been shot he started planning the hack..._

So Logan knew little more than he had before this poser's hack, but at least now was back in contact with the world and with his Net, and the reconnection left him feeling more settled than he'd been since he arrived at the hospital. He was relieved and gratified to see that the Net had been professional, quiet and stubbornly unfazed by his absence; the hack earlier that day had brought modest activity that subtly read of everyone's relief that Eyes Only was safe and sound.

_So this guy did exactly what he said he would do..._ Logan mused, wondering how safe it was to trust him – and how much choice he had in the matter. And this guy, Bling – how did _he_ fit into the picture? He felt another nudge of irritation that he had to wait so long to find out...

... and suddenly, without his touching anything, a small screen opened before him across the website he was reading, revealing a blank surface typical of commercial instant messaging systems. But given what Logan had seen so far, it was unimaginable that the person behind all this would time-rig such an easily hacked program to pop up under his nose. Did the guy create his own, secure system for instant communications, too?

All speculation flew out the window when the blinking blue cursor came to life and began to move smoothly across the screen. And Logan saw unfolding before him a message from the _other_ Eyes Only – _"Ah ... a fellow night owl as well, I see..."_

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Characters courtesy of Dark Angel; no profits made.

_**A/N:**__ Sorry for the delay and the shorter installment, but as with everyone else, RL has been commanding all waking hours... Here's a bit of an update to the pre-Pilot mystery. If you're still there and reading, please let me hear from you! Are there any M/L readers left out there?_

**The Only Free Voices** – part 4.

"Old journalist's habit ... "

Logan licked his lips tentatively as he typed. Even with the intrigue of this cryptic faux Eyes Only, he registered how good it felt to have the keyboard under his fingertips again, always one of his primary tools for ferreting out the unseen, especially in recent years, as worldwide internet access once again became more and more fruitful. Already he was wondering what tone to take with this guy, how far to push him. Maybe he could again track down a mysterious source... "We just seem to be up and awake, rooting around in things, when everyone else is sleeping..." he offered, in the hope that the guy would respond with something solid. "Is that what's keeping you up?"

The several seconds passing without response dragged by like years for Logan, nearly making him worry that he'd started off on exactly the wrong foot with his unseen benefactor. But the quick resumption of text painting across the little text box let him breathe again. "Something like that."

The text stopped, daring Logan to pull the information from his correspondent. Despite the clear indication that this guy could provide as secure a line as available these days, and the obvious invitation to engage in discussion, Logan still couldn't be sure of the guy's motives, even how secure the connection really was. He typed, tentatively, "so is it you I have to thank for the laptop?"

The words came a little more quickly this time. "I thought you might need your computer."

So in one phrase he confirmed that it was indeed he who sent the laptop, and that he had indeed intended to make it appear to be Logan's own, nothing special.

_...and you keep thinking this is a guy... _Logan reminded himself. _You don't even know that for sure..._ Curiosity made him a bit bolder. "How were you able to get into my place to get it? I thought everything was pretty secure." Logan hit the send button and sat back. _Will he tell me how the hell he figured out who I am?_

"You forgot that you had it with you, when you were injured. I was just able to get your effects from the investigators."

_Well, damn._ Logan stared at the screen, musing at the response. _Just a quick-witted reply to throw off anyone tapping into our conversation? A suggestion that either Matt or someone with the SPD either tipped him ... or was it? Was this guy on the other end someone with the police department? It couldn't be Matt – could it?_ Logan frowned, wondering what to say next, when the screen filled again.

"I thought you might want to get back to work, since you're up there with time on your hands."

Logan's eyes narrowed. Back to Eyes Only, did he mean? Maybe he didn't realize that Eyes Only had been pretty well tossed from the game... "I don't know that I still have a job," he typed, the thought more painful when put onto the screen, as if making it more real. "I'm not exactly going to bounce back from this one, this time."

"You seem to be doing just fine." The response was immediate. "Working fingers ... working brain."

_So what did this guy know?_ "But not much past that," Logan wrote back.

"How much more do you need?"

The question was almost accusative; Logan had a moment of complete surrealism as he found himself wondering if this was some future – or past – self, voicing the questions and fears and questions roiling around in the back of his head since he'd regained consciousness and was told the extent of the damage he'd suffered. _What's going to happen to Eyes Only, now that you're all but immobile? Who will take up the cause? Who's going to run the investigations, make the connections? How much of what you did before can be done without legs and feet and a fast getaway?_

He answered the only way he knew how at the moment. "Good question."

This time the reply was only a beat behind the others. "You might be surprised."

"And you would know _how_?" This time it was Logan's turn to be accusative, his defensiveness nearly letting him forget just how much this guy actually _did_ know, enough to figure out his alter ego, enough to plant all he had in this unassuming laptop. After a few moments without response, Logan's mangled sense of self kicked in and he realized he was feeling the strain of it all – the shooting, the isolation, and more than anything, this mysterious computer geek who seemed to know all his secrets. "Nevermind," he typed moodily. _Maybe I should just call Matt and confess it all, before this guy outs me,_ Logan started to consider, _maybe he can figure out some way..._

"I'm sorry," the surprising words rolled across the screen. "I know it's been only a few weeks. Don't forget I have some more material I can offer to tide things over, until you're ready to get back at it. But I'm confident that you'll find you can get back to work. Maybe a few alterations here and there, but trust me, you can. Just ask Bling when you see him on Tuesday."

_Bling! He'd already forgotten about the therapist, the one, corporeal person in all this craziness, his human connection to this disembodied correspondent..._ "So how exactly do you two know each other?" Logan typed quickly, knowing he wasn't likely to get a straight answer but suddenly craving more information about this newly developing connection...

"An old friend. A very resourceful friend to have around."

_Was this guy suggesting that this Bling person could be more than just a physical therapist?_ He immediately rolled his eyes at his slow-wittedness; the man had already served as a courier for his on-line contact, and at the very first moment, too, in the middle of introductions.

"... but it's late – even for journalists," his contact was typing. "Get some sleep. We can talk again later."

Logan suddenly wanted nothing more than to stay up all night talking with this person. No matter who or why or how, he was the one person in Logan's world at that moment who knew just who he was, why his injury and hospitalization might have effects beyond just himself – and who spoke as if there might be some way out of the fix in which he now found himself. "I'm not tired. All I do here is sleep," he elaborated, realizing he sounded like a cranky – and lonely– child. After a moment, he added, "and I haven't begun to thank you for..." Logan paused to find the right words, "... your generous help, while I've been here."

The words seemed to reel out a bit more slowly this time, in response. "No thanks needed. Consider it my thanks for your own work. And even if you don't need much sleep, I could use some – it's been a long day. We'll talk later. As for you – if you don't want to sleep just yet – at least you have your laptop now. Why not catch up on everything that's been happening since you've been away?"

_Another push to get him back to work? _This time Logan felt less insulted, maybe even a bit appreciative. _Whoever this clown is, he seems to think I can get back at it. _"Understood," he typed, actually feeling a bit of calm lingering after his discussion with the faceless stranger. "I will. And ... thanks," he wrote again.

"Good night, friend," the words scrolled. "I'll be in touch..."

...and with that, the dialogue box and all the conversation they'd had vanished from his screen...

The sudden evaporation of his connection to the outside world made Logan feel an immediate pang of loss, but it came and went quickly as he let the conversation turn over, rapidly, in his thoughts. _Who __**is**__ this guy? I didn't learn anything more about him; I have no reason to trust him ... _

...but he did. Logan knew he might be suffering from events or loneliness or any manner of delusions in thinking the guy meant him only well – but he _did_. Given the hack, given that the guy stepped in to assure Seattle and all those who wished her harm that Eyes Only was still out there, fighting the fight, given that the guy had gone to such lengths to establish contact with him and start pushing him to get back on the horse...

_That's a whole lot of work, when if all he wanted to do was to hurt me or Eyes Only he could have done so by now, with a lot less effort..._

Logan sighed, stared at the empty screen, and considered the status quo. His plans for the future, for his work, his very life, had been on the mother of all roller coasters over the past weeks; his secrecy, his safety and very altered life had been turned around several times over the last few hours. _What if this guy is right?_ he dared to imagine. _What if Eyes Only doesn't have to walk to keep working?_

He leaned back, wondering just how possible things might be. He glanced back at the glowing screen, waiting silently for his commands to get back to work.

_Oh, what the hell_, Logan thought as his fingers flew back over the keyboard. _At least I can do what he says and catch up on everything that's been happening since I've been away..._

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Characters courtesy of Dark Angel; no profits made.

_**A/N:**__ A big thanks to everyone for the reviews, and for letting me know there are still some M/L fans out there – we seem to be dwindling alarmingly, so it's good to know that there is still a faithful little band of us who want to see M/L continue._

_For anyone who has read my other Bling-related stories, you might notice that this is a different history for the__ Logan-Bling connection than I've used before. I still maintain that the other stories are his 'real' history, so that this is AU for Bling. Kinda sad to AU my own fantasized background for a character, huh? Still ...  
_

_For everyone still hanging in with M/L and this story – many, many thanks. Would still love to hear whatever comments, reviews or tid-bits anyone has to say ..._

**The Only Free Voices** – part 5.

_Sunday evening_

"Heard you overdid it. So you're going to be that kind of patient, hmm?"

Logan cracked an eye open to see a smirk on the dark face, the man's amused, understanding eyes dancing above it. Logan grimaced, but forced his other eye open when he saw, a whole two days ahead of schedule, the one person he'd met since the broadcast who might have some of the answers as to who and what was behind all of the cloak and dagger he'd gone through in the past few days. "Depends," he began tentatively, his voice reedy to his ears, strained as he tried to ignore the pain that had kept him from moving all day. "Will it run you off?"

"Hardly," the big man chuckled, the sound easy and comfortable. "But I'm not going to admit to anything more than that – I'm not going to be as easy for you to manipulate as Tina has been."

Logan felt like hell, worse even than those first couple days after he'd awakened, freshly shot up and patched back together. This time, much of it was his own fault – well, _all_ of it was his own fault; he'd figured out from the clucking of the nurses and a worried visit from Sam that the nearly non-stop thirty six hours he'd spent bent over his new laptop, much of it sitting up at his desk, had set up new muscle spasms and contractions both above and below his injury, mostly those of a complaining body, newly broken and not taking kindly to being 'up and at 'em' quite so abruptly. So _that_ was on him ...

...as was his stubborn refusal to take the morphine or other big-gun pain killers they wanted to pump into him. He couldn't afford to be as out of it again as he'd been those first days: while he was dead to the world someone had tried to blow him up, and someone else had swung by to save him from annihilation, all of which happened while he was completely oblivious to the world around him.

His savior had to have been Max. From the description he'd heard of both the events and of the young woman no one had seen before or since, he knew that somehow she'd been there to haul him out of his room just in time. The shooter? Who knew – maybe someone working for Sonrisa, since it was he who was at the heart of the attack which left him in this hospital bed ... and who himself was killed by one of his own men not long after. Probably too late to find out for sure now; it all had happened and had been resolved while he was completely unaware – he learned about it all two weeks later when Matt had stopped by to see how he was doing. And so far, there was no indication of a repeat performance.

He had no reason to assume he was safe from whomever wanted him dead, but he hadn't seen Max during the long weeks of his recovery. He found himself wondering if that meant that whatever threat had been in play earlier had ended – or if it just meant that Max had just happened to be around, right time and right place, and she'd helped him out while she was handy. From what he'd seen of her, the second was more likely. He couldn't assume that she was keeping some sort of vigil over him – he couldn't assume that _any_one was watching his back in this place, especially since Peter, the one person who might have done so, didn't survive the ambush. So he was there without back-up. Wouldn't be the first time ... and he had to feel some hope that it wouldn't be the last. This time, though, we has definitely less able to fend for himself, should it be necessary. The thought was an uncomfortable one, in more ways than one...

There were just too many people who would benefit from his absence to not be vigilant, within reason. After all, they told him he'd be there in the hospital for a while. Logan reasoned in some dark, private humor that he had to eat and sleep sometime, so he might end up poisoned or attacked in his sleep or wind up on the receiving end of any manner of things, given that he was a sitting duck in a place with almost as much public access as the local library. He had little to no way of defending himself. But at least, he decided, he wasn't going to help them by being in a morphine stupor if they tried anything. So he refused the drugs they offered...

And the day he'd just had, before Bling's arrival, had been a long, rough one, not only interfering with his rest but working to remind him just how serious his injuries had been – and what it might mean for his future. So in spite of himself, in spite of the throbbing in his middle back, where he could still feel it, and the sympathetic pounding it sent up through his skull – even in spite of the secrets this man might hold for him – Logan snorted softly, unwilling to let the allegation pass. "Me? Manipulate Tina?" he echoed, fully aware of what the therapist meant. Unbidden, bitterness nipped around the edges of his words. "I'm not exactly in any position to be manipulating anything around here."

"Uh-huh." Bling clearly didn't believe him for a second, eyeing him as if he were still sizing him up, although Logan had a strong hunch the therapist at least _thought_ he'd already made his new patient. "That's why you're still fighting back spasms and that headache instead of taking the pain meds they've offered, just to prove you have some say in things?"

Logan ignored the truth in his words and shook his head tersely. "They make my brain like mush – I can't think, can't shake that feeling that my head's full of cotton. I don't want to be like that – I can't be like that..." He insisted, wondering if the man knew why he couldn't afford to drop his guard, even here.

Bling gazed at him steadily, considering him before speaking. "They have drugs that will be less debilitating. You should have just told them why you were refusing your meds – as far as they knew, it could have been out of some ethical or religious belief, something that was non-negotiable." The voice chastised him gently, still managing to sound soothing. "Logan, the pain is your body's way of saying that you threw something out of whack, and you need to let it heal..."

"Oh, yeah, something's out of whack, all right, but just laying here doped up isn't going to change any of that." His building frustration with his new reality, borne of several hours in grating discomfort, suddenly found a target. He again opened an eye to look at his new therapist. "Unless you have some new therapy Sam doesn't know about – he seems to think this isn't going to go away."

The dark brown eyes still held patient understanding, as if he'd heard the same rant countless times before, and let Logan's irritation wash past him. "What you're doing now is just fighting the natural process – you have pain, and in response you tense up and fight it and probably just make it feel worse. You feel worse, you get more tense and rigid – look at your hands..." Bling nodded toward Logan's fists as they lay against the blanket, balled up in tension, his thumbs restlessly circling around his knuckles. "...so the whole pain cycle spirals upward, and that's all while you're not being able to relax and get on top of it, so that you can get some rest and let your body heal. If you want, I can show you some techniques to try to get past the pain and relax without overdoing the meds – but until then, you're just going intensify things until you pass out from exhaustion – and not into a restorative sleep. If you let them give you something to take off the worst of it, you can get some fairly normal sleep, and the pain will resolve itself much more quickly."

Logan had looked at his fists as the man spoke, and forced them to unclench, stretching them open wide with nearly as much tension as had been in them before. With Bling's words, however, he began to assess and realized how much tension there was in his shoulders, his jaw and neck, his head and brow... recognizing the truth in what Bling was saying, Logan drew a deep breath and licked his lips before speaking. "I ... can't afford to be too doped up," he tried again, looking up. This man was connected to his secret benefactor – how much did he know? And how much was he risking to tell the man even this much?

But Bling was nodding sagely, at least appearing to take the statement in stride. "Just tell Sam what you told me – that you don't like being so out of it, mentally. He can adjust to something else – it won't kill the pain as effectively as would the stronger stuff, but will let you relax."

The man's demeanor was almost as palliative as the drugs he mentioned, and Logan found himself daring to ask more – things that he'd been afraid to voice even to Sam. "This new pain – this back pain – just recently seemed to get worse, after yesterday. Is it ...?" He hesitated, the idea still too painful to voice easily. "Is it permanent, too?"

Bling grinned immediately, leading Logan to an almost-irrational relief even before he spoke. "No," he chuckled. "It's only because you pushed things too long, too early. The hospital version of 'weekend warrior...'"

"What – just being up, sitting at a desk, for more than three hours?" Logan's hopes crashed again as his imagination ran away with the image of his being unable to even sit for more than a couple hours at a time. "How am I going to be able to..."

"Logan, it's _not_ permanent," Bling interrupted as Logan started letting his fears overwhelm him, "and it's not going to keep happening. I went through your file when they said you were having a bad couple days..." Logan looked to him, still willing to hope for better news, and Bling continued, "think about it – you've been shot and underwent some serious surgical repair, left with some major trauma, and your body is just coming to grips with it all. For the past five weeks you've been pretty much in bed the majority of the time, only up for, what, a couple weeks, and in therapy for maybe ten days? Some of which you managed to avoid?" _He couldn't help the dig about avoiding therapy_, Logan noticed.

"So then, all of a sudden, you get your new toy and you're out of bed for hours – for whatever reason, Sam didn't get the word that you didn't just hop back into bed right after we left as he'd ordered, or he'd probably have come back himself to be sure you followed a more conservative schedule of staying up in your chair. With all you dodging the nurses' attempts to get you back into bed, to stretch out once in a while and release the tension you were building there, all you did was wake up some muscles that had been left napping lately, and irritate the still-recovering tender or traumatized areas of your back – you just pushed too far, too fast."

Logan visibly relaxed with the certainly in the therapist as he made his assessment. "Like ... playing full court for two hours after not having played for maybe ten or twelve months?" Logan finally conceded, to see the broad grin in return.

"Something like that." Bling agreed. "Look, if you like, I'll give Sam a call to see about changing the order for your pain medication – you might be a bit drowsier at first, but I promise you, only a little, if anything. It will take the edge off and let you relax. Other than letting you sleep, it shouldn't interfere too much with your thought processes."

"What about ..." Logan dared a little more, again hoping he understood the purpose of the faux Eyes Only and his involvement as he lay here, all but tied to the bed. "... still keeping an eye open? I mean ..." Even though he'd begun to believe that the computer whiz who'd set up the hack could know just anything, Logan was again keenly aware that he might be telling this Bling guy more than he already knew. Still ... he didn't have too many options at the moment, and decided to take the chance while he had it. "Right after I was admitted, there was an explosion, and the police found evidence that it was from an explosive fired into my room..."

"I know," Bling nodded quietly. "And so does the most recent Eyes Only." Bling looked at him steadily – meaningfully – then shrugged. "That has a lot to do with how I ended up working back here." He saw Logan frown in silent question, and he offered a small smile. "Physical therapy was my second career," Bling offered. "I have a bit of training in some other areas as well."

It was the opening Logan wanted. Almost forgetting how ragged he felt at the moment, he pressed, "so you were sent by the same person who sent the computer..."

Bling raised an eyebrow. "Not exactly 'sent' – seeing as only one of us is an inanimate object..." Logan drew a breath to explain he hadn't meant things as they sounded, but Bling was already chuckling at Logan falling for what apparently was just his attempt to lighten the mood, waving away Logan's explanation. "I get your point. And ... yes, in a manner of speaking," he conceded, his voice low. "The computer person is the same one who got the ball rolling to have me come back on staff."

"What's his interest?" Logan breathed, taken with having someone right there who might know what it was all about. "Who is he? And ... is it a 'he' at all?" _And how much __**does**__ Bling know? Did the computer guy tell him that I'm Eyes Only, too?_ "Did he say how he knows me, if it was from ... my work?"

His barrage of questions elicited only a patient smile from the man as he shook his head. "The answers you want aren't mine to give – but it won't be too much longer, now, that much I _can_ tell you. And you've spoken, on line?" At his patient's nod, Bling went on, "I know you can understand the need for privacy and caution, in the circumstances. But you'll have two paths to communication soon enough – the computer ... and a human transmitter," he grinned. "I imagine there are some things better brought through a live, human messenger than though any potentially traceable method."

Logan lay back, eyes not leaving the calm, reassuring expression before him, and found himself trusting that the man and his secret benefactor really working to help him through the worst – just as he was counseling him now to get past the worst of his pain. "Thank you," Logan said softly, finally conceding to the circumstances. He considered the man another moment and added, "and ... thanks, for coming by. You're not due until Tuesday..."

It was close enough to a question that Bling got it. He smiled softly as he explained, "I was bringing some things in to my office – trying to get things ready for next week a little bit at a time. I called upstairs here to see how the inpatient part of my caseload was doing, and they told me you'd had a rough day. I just thought I'd stop by and see if there was anything I should know."

That earned him a grudging smile from Logan. "Learn anything?"

"Quite a bit." Bling's easy grin widened, and he shifted, grabbing his bag from the nearby chair, where he'd apparently left it on his arrival, and hiking it up on his shoulder. 'I'll see you Tuesday, Logan." Bling couldn't have missed the small flicker of hope in Logan that had risen and faded again, hungry to have Bling – and the information he had – there for as long as possible, and back at the very first moment possible. With his own conceding smile, Bling added, "and – if I bring another load in tomorrow, I'll try to stop by – especially if I have any information for you. Deal?"

Logan found himself smiling again, appreciative of the man's quick understanding. "Best I've gotten so far..." Logan smirked, not able to resist a little self-directed sarcasm.

But Bling just laughed. "Oh, yeah ... you're gonna be one of those patients."

_Monday morning_

Despite its being the cause of his hours of pain, the laptop that had fueled Logan's obsessive on-line hours and led him to ignore medical advice now sat open and humming again, luring him back, this time perched on a rolling, over-bed table that allowed him to work on line in any number of positions, even lying back against his raised bed.

Not long after Bling left the night before, the nurse had come in with newly ordered medications from Sam, which he quietly took. And just as Bling had promised, the worst of it eased – he wasn't pain free, but he felt long knotted muscles relax, and the tension that had simply made things worse began to fade. He could hear his own breathing deepen and knew that he would finally get some sleep ...

This morning had been even better. He was urged out of bed for a time, even had a fairly quiet session of therapy – his last– with Tina, before returning to his room with some free time to jump back on the computer. The comparison unavoidable, given his session with the smaller, more timid Tina, Logan thought again about the man who would be taking over his rehab. He was built like a tank, but had a soothing, quiet demeanor; he might be a part of the whole intrigue and have planted here by his secret benefactor, but the man knew his stuff – and Logan found himself listening to his advice, his no-nonsense assessment of things, even more than he had Sam, let alone any of the other hospital staff. The man was a seeming contradiction – thoughtful and articulate, but also fit and powerful. _Was that part of the package, too, why he's here now?_ Logan suddenly wondered, before realizing it didn't matter – he might make someone a good bodyguard, but that wasn't what Logan was the most interested at the moment. _Whoever is on the other end of this computer and of the Eyes Only hack – this man has trust at some level; he's in on enough that he knows there's some clandestine communication going on between this guy and me. What more does he know?_

He hit the power switch and took comfort in the familiar, grinding sounds of the laptop booting up. Even though he hadn't even turned it on the day before, let alone try any contact with the mysterious computer provider, Logan was relieved to see that the secured connections he'd established and used to get back on the web – and to chat with the 'new' Eyes Only – were up and running.

He wanted to check the 'Net, check his e-mail and the local news, get back in touch with the world – but more than anything, he wanted to make contact with the person behind all the intrigue. Yet, to his frustration, he had no way of doing so. He didn't have an e-mail address, and didn't know where to find the unfamiliar message platform used for their last chat. Still, it wasn't as if he was going anywhere, he mused, as he began poking around in the programs stored in the hard drive's memory. Maybe it was installed somewhere in this system that he could find...

He didn't have a chance to really start looking before the screen, as it had before, suddenly opened on its own accord, and words began scrolling smoothly across its face.

_A rough day or two? I'm sorry to have contributed to it._

So the guy already knew about that? He figured Bling might have reported in – and shoved from his thoughts any consternation he might have felt otherwise at the question of patient confidentiality. This was too important ...

_Just my impatience,_ he typed._ Not the fault of the gift-giver._ Logan paused for a moment and tried to organize his thoughts – what did he want to know, in what order? There was no telling how long the guy would talk ...

But before Logan could say more, the words again began scrolling across the screen. _Even so, you have a lot of work ahead of you to get back as scheduled – and I know you're in excellent hands, so I won't intrude again here. We have a mutual friend who can serve as our point of contact, if any is needed. And if you feel you must contact me – my e-mail address was provided in the files you were provided, along with the other information..._

Logan couldn't help himself when he saw those lines and began typing as quickly as he could, _Please – wait – I have questions – I have so much to thank you for, and questions about what..._

The typing on the other end barely hesitated as the words interrupted in response to his. _I understand, and we will have an opportunity to talk one day. For now – you have your own road to forge in the next couple weeks. I leave you in very capable hands. Take care..._

And once again, the messaging screen disappeared...

_TBC..._


End file.
